


Playing The Game

by EchoVanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Stream of Consciousness, honestly had i never heard of ending a goddamn sentence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoVanity/pseuds/EchoVanity
Summary: that one where Harry & Draco fight but it's not really fighting aka it's pig-tail-pulling aka this is four years old and i still like it."You think you know how this game is played. This spiteful words and angry fists and bruises and hell and hate and bliss game you play, have always played. He's the only one able to get under your skin and you despise him for it..."





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this back in ...2012 but it's one of the ones I decided I still quite like from my ff.net days, even though my writing style has changed so much since then. but, enjoy?

You think you know how this game is played. This spiteful words and angry fists and bruises and hell and hate and bliss game you play, have always played. He's the only one able to get under your skin and you _despise_ him for it, want to smash that far too pretty face of his in with your fist, want to slam his blonde head into the stone floors of the corridors and make him _bleed_. Want to feel his silky hair all twisted too tight in your fist and feel his slick bright blood beneath your fingertips.

You want to pick up his stupid, skinny, ragdoll body and shove him against the wall. Want to see him smirk through the fear in his _stupid_  ,mesmerizing, silver eyes and you want to force your mouth onto that smirk, bite his pretty pink pout and make his lips bleed and bruise. Want to make him moan and gasp and convulse beneath your furious administrations. Want to rip his stupidly expensive clothes off, tear the silk and slice through cashmere and fuck him harsh and raw and passionate. Want to leave him lying there naked and alone and senseless from your love-hate- _hate_ - **hate**.

And it's so fucking perverse, you must be a fucking masochist you sick fuck because you look forward to him pushing past you in the corridors, slamming his bony shoulders into yours. Love the way he spits "Potter." with _that_ icy glint in his eyes and that dangerous smirk on his stupid kissable fuckable mouth.

You want him to push you to the floor and straddle your hips and slam your head so hard into the cold ground that your teeth rattle. Want his pointy elbow against your windpipe and want to see his stupid fucking face through blurry eyes and shattered glasses. Want him to grip your hair too too tight til you feel the messy strands, so imperfect next to his sleek locks, rip out. Want him to ask "Scared Potter?" as he brings his mouth to your flesh , sucks and _bites_ with those pointy incisors of his. And you'll raise a brow in a pointed mockery of his dumb facial expression and hiss: "You wish."

And it's and oh-so-dangerous game you play and it's a fine, fine line between beating him up and jumping his bones and it's happening every day now, sometimes more til both his and your friends just sigh in exasperation and leave you to it. Every damn day you think "maybe today that line will be crossed-" and it's sickening how much you look forward to it, to **him** , but you can't stop, _won't_ stop and where's the harm? No one but you, and you suspect, him, will ever _ever_ know your perverse pleasure, your insane excitement, your fucking _euphoria_ at the thought of him smashing your face in.

He's swaggering down the corridor right in your line of sight again and you feel your stomach tighten in anticipation, feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins and it is _heaven_. You can see the light in his eyes as he slams into you, not even bothering with the insults any more. You think you can feel his hard length against your thigh as he straddles your bucking hips and you feel your own hardness in response. And he's laughing at you, fucking _laughing_ even as you gain the upper hand. You growl and he just smirks more, laughs harder and that mocking sound grates on your ears and makes you furious even as it turns you on.  
He flips you over again and punches are flying and isn't this _fun?_ Isn't it _glorious?_ And as you're slammed into a wall, trapped on your knees with him pummeling your gut, you think you hear him grunt: " _Mine."_

And so you smile and gasp through the blood and the sweat and shove him fiercely with your bony knees and think: " _Yes. Mine. Mine."  
_ You have no idea how to win this game or where it's going or how to stop but Draco's resorted to biting you and your melting in bliss even as you claw at his back and you think you'll keep playing this game forever and ever for the feel of his skin on your skin, your bones as they slam together.that hate filled wondrous look in his stupid, perfect eyes.


End file.
